


between the lines

by bloodandpepper



Series: new paths to eden [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Coming of Age, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, Kinda?, M/M, Mutual Pining, Shenanigans, teenage Altaïr, teenage Malik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28980936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandpepper/pseuds/bloodandpepper
Summary: ‘You’re crazy. Completely, utterly crazy,’ Malik hissed, grabbing the stirrup to re-center himself in the still swaying world again.Altaïr had sunken to the ground, where he sprawled spread-eagle, taking in deep breaths of air, a huge smile still plastered on his face. His admittedly way too pretty face, as Malik became aware once more.
Relationships: Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
Series: new paths to eden [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154309
Comments: 18
Kudos: 66





	between the lines

'This time, you’ve overdone things, Altaïr…’

The pitchfork was jabbed into the ground with a wet squelch and the boy in question glared daggers at him. His sharp gaze would’ve been way more effective, if he wouldn’t be sporting such a massive black eye that only served to underline Malik’s accusing words further.

‘He deserved the beating he got,’ Altaïr spat. ‘And if you’re on his side and only here to gloat, get lost!’

Malik exhaled through his nose not to lose his temper, too. He wasn’t here to berate his friend, but to show support, but, of course, Altaïr would be riled up by his mere presence. Taking in the other’s plain, rough-spun tunic that hung about his lean frame at least two sizes too big, he sighed in defeat. Altaïr was sentenced to work at the stables for a week, bereft of all the little luxuries the advanced novices were granted and no defiance could mask how miserable the boy felt.

‘I brought you dinner, and, no I’m not here to gloat. But, honestly, I still don’t get, why Hakim was able to get you so angry with just two words…,’ Malik said, while unwrapping the fresh bread with pickled vegetables.

Grabbing the offered food, Altaïr perched upon the fence wolfing it down in angry silence. Malik leant against a wooden beam, still mustering his friend. He had hit a growing spurt recently, but whereas other boys their age – himself included – grew more muscle, Altaïr stayed lanky, gawkish yet that alone wasn’t the problem.

‘I’m no ‘pretty boy’,’ he murmured after the last bite.

Yes, that proved to be the issue down to its very core.

‘Everyone is a shiny beauty compared to that pig-head Hakim,’ Malik said to back-up his friend’s bruised ego.

‘Though he never calls _you_ that. Nor Kadar, or anyone else.’

The truth was: Altaïr was pretty by all standards: angular face, big, dark eyes and a full mouth. But assassins weren’t supposed to be pretty and that fact alone was enough to make him target for jabs that aimed exactly there. It didn’t help that Altaïr was short-tempered and met such insults with a fist to a face, which was exactly what brought him here.

‘He’s just jealous, because the girls don’t turn their heads after him like they do with you.’

Altaïr was staring at him and Malik felt pinned to the place by it.

‘…they do?’

Malik tried in vain to swallow the laugh that bubbled up his throat, but failed miserably. ‘Of course they do! Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed!’ When a blush spread across the other’s high cheekbones, the answer was clear as day. ‘You haven’t. In the Prophet’s name, you really haven’t.’

Altaïr got agitated, jumping off the fence to pick up the abandoned pitchfork again. ‘Then they should be calling you ‘pretty boy’, too, because the girls look after you, too.’ There lay accusation in the cadence of his voice and Malik wasn’t able to place it correctly.

Sometimes, Altaïr was open like a book written in intricate, beautiful calligraphy and other times, Malik had to read between the lines nonetheless. ‘You don’t notice them watching you, but see them watching me?!’ Malik asked, disbelief lining his words. ‘Your perspective is in dire need for some fine tuning!’

What Malik failed to understand was why Altaïr’s blush deepened further, but before he had the chance to ask for clarification, the other grabbed his shoulder to redirect his gaze.

‘Malik! Look! They brought Al Mualim’s new racing horse!’

He would never fully understand what Altaïr saw in horses. Granted, they were kind of graceful and furthermore useful, but other than that they were stinky and not very smart. His friend oh so obviously held them in higher esteem and Malik had to smile at the pure elation that seemed to run through Altaïr upon seeing one of the finest stallions Masyaf’s stables had to offer. Compared to the sturdy and die-hard breeds they provided for the novices, that one was indeed from a completely different league: Slender, fine-boned, but with well-defined features – an immanent beauty beyond comparison.

_Like Altaïr._

Sometimes, Malik didn’t like what his mind spawned out when he wasn’t looking. Before he was able to aim a jibe at his friend’s stupid love for horses, the other had already spun on his heel and headed to the animal in question to greet it, leaving him behind with the discarded pitchfork.

Malik had to run to catch up with him, already wondering, where the horsemaster had disappeared to. It seemed strange to leave a fine horse like this bridled and ready for a ride, only to disappear. It dawned on him that Altaïr must’ve come to the same conclusion, because the other watched the animal with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

‘Altaïr, no, don’t even think about it. Al Mualim will have you beaten for this.’

When the other turned to face him, the excitement in his gaze spoke of _‘I am well aware and I don’t give a flying fuck’_ and Malik knew his friend well enough to know that there was nothing to be done about it from now on. If Altaïr had set his mind onto something, he was bound to see it through to the bitter end, so he watched in mute surrender as the other mounted the priced stallion and lead them across the corral a few times, each lap faster than the last.

Malik would’ve been lying if the sight of Altaïr high on horseback, racing across the field wasn’t something that filled him with joy, but in the end, it happened, what was bound to happen: The horsemaster returned with a livid curse on his lips. If it would’ve been Malik sitting atop the horse, he would’ve slowed down and jumped off the horse to ask for forgiveness with the outmost politeness.

Not so Altaïr.

Instead of halting his mount’s steps, he spurred it on, galloping towards them full-speed. Malik waited for the full-stop. Waited for the rearing horse to come to a halt in front of him. Instead, Altaïr extended a hand towards him in the last, possible moment, and Malik damned his body’s instinct for he let himself be hurled up behind his friend, clutching to the hunch-over torso, as the other lead the horse into a high jump over the fence. Curses and screams followed them as they raced off, leaving first the stables, then Masyaf behind them.

The world became a blur after that. He lost count of how long and far they galloped through the sloping hills until, finally, Altaïr brought their mount to a halt by a small creek that meandered through a canyon, its shallow waters murmuring in the background.

‘You’re crazy. Completely, utterly crazy,’ Malik hissed, grabbing the stirrup to re-center himself in the still swaying world again.

Altaïr had sunken to the ground, where he sprawled spread-eagle, taking in deep breaths of air, a huge smile still plastered on his face. His admittedly way too pretty face, as Malik became aware once more. The flush of excitement added a rosy hue to his bronze skin and Malik watched in fascination as his limbs shook in small tremors as the rush of adrenalin slowly seeped out of his bones. In the end, he sank down next to his friend, once he trusted his legs to bear his weight again, and grabbed the collar of Altaïr’s way-too-loose tunic to shake him in mock outrage.

Originally, Malik had planned on slapping some sense into Altaïr’s thick skull, but the moment his hands made contact, something in him shifted out of its own accord: maybe it was due to the immanent magic of the other’s still full-blown pupils in combination with his captivating smile, but he found himself unable to see through with his charade. His hands first loosened their hold, then flattened against a still heaving chest, but he found himself at a loss how to proceed from there.

Again, it was Altaïr who made the decision for both of them and all Malik could do was following along unasked, but always free to choose. Craning his neck, Altaïr spanned the small space separating them to seal their lips in a shaky kiss and it all made sense suddenly.

Altaïr was an open book he finally got the decoding language to read in. No more fumbling in between the lines from now on, Malik thought as he kissed back with a hunger he wasn’t aware he possessed. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected to share his first kiss with his best friend, but here they were.

Hands found their way into his hair and down his back until he came to a rest on top of the other, his body still on fire like never before in his life. Altaïr didn’t seem to plan on handing him over the reins of this new race they took swirling fast steps in, but Malik could care less.

The second kiss was deeper, yet slower and Malik took the time to savor it.

The third gained a quality all the ones before were lacking: his hunger took root and spread to pool in his belly and below. Altaïr’s breath grew unsteady, too, and together their hips developed a life on their own, as they rocked against each other in a new, wild dance. It felt strange to feel another erection pressing alongside his own, but the sheer erotic thrill scorched more complicated questions from his mind.

The fourth kiss was the best, because Altaïr came with a choked-off cry, jerking and spilling in his hold. Malik watched him as ecstasy ripped through him, and if Altaïr had been pretty before, he was outright heavenly now. It was this sight that pushed him over the edge, and Malik was falling, chanting the other’s name as tremor after tremor rushed through his body. His friend held him throughout and once the tide had subsided allowed him to collapse on top of him, stroking up and down his back like one would with a spooked animal.

Their fifth kiss was lazy and without an ounce of regret, and Malik was grateful for that because in the world’s reality none of what they’ve done would’ve found a lenient sentence, even if it felt so utterly right to them.

‘Now I see why you’ve never noticed the girls mooning over you.’ Someone had to break the spell, Malik decided.

Altaïr snorted. ‘That’s why you are the ‘pretty boy’ here in the first place, at least to me. You just failed to notice that fact.’

‘I…I really didn’t notice, Altaïr, I’m sorry.’

‘You notice now.’

Malik had to swallow before he was able to ask the question that sat burning at the tip of his tongue. ‘For how long? For how long has it been that way?’

Arms crossed over his shoulder blades, pulling him closer and Malik buried his face in the crook of the other’s neck, already knowing the answer to that question.

‘For as long as I can remember, Malik.’ Here, Altaïr paused for a moment to let his breath ghost over the shell of his ear, deepening the intimacy between them.

‘For as long as I can remember.’

**Author's Note:**

> I still don't know why I'm writing for this half-frozen fandom. Anyway, for the few people reading this: Thanks for your support!
> 
> [uhm, hello](http://blood-and-pepper.tumblr.com/)


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